


nothing is written

by orphan_account



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"New in town?" as he sips his coffee, black two sugars.</p><p>Loki just lifts an eyebrow, as if to say, "Is it not obvious?", and Thor falls in love.</p><p>- </p><p>Thor is a detective who works with victms of abuse. Loki works for the DA office. And then they meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing is written

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt at norsekink: basically Thor and Loki meet, start dating and get aong well despite all their differences. Loki never really tells Thor about his past but Thor feels that theres something wrong.

He meets Loki on an early Friday morning in the coffee shop on the corner: he can tell from the accent that he's not from New York and the name helps when the barista shouts it across the sea of people. He's also dressed in green and black and gold while the rest of the business men are clad in the usual mix of black, white, and blue pinstripe, and when he thanks the girl, the accent is familiar to Thor.

Basically, Loki stands out like a sad, Norwegian thumb.

So Thor sidles over to ask, "New in town?" as he sips his coffee, black two sugars.

Loki just lifts an eyebrow, as if to say, "Is it not obvious?"

And Thor falls in love.

"Thor Odinson," he introduces himself with an outstretched hand, aborting the gesture when Loki looks at him uncomfortably.

For a moment, the other man looks as if he's about to walk away, then Thor hears, "Loki. Loki Selvik."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Loki Selvik."

"And yours."

They go their separate ways that day—Loki toward the subway and Thor toward the precinct just a few blocks up—but when they cross paths at the bodega across the street from the coffee shop Sunday night, Thor asks if they can exchange numbers. Instead, Loki asks if they can meet for coffee Monday morning, and on Monday, he asks if they can do so again Tuesday; they end the week with a promise to meet for dinner at a pizza place on Allen street.

And their dinner is wonderful, a ridiculously topped and overpriced pizza half-eaten between them, and they have a lively discussion of New York, Oslo, and their careers.

Loki, apparently, is a lawyer who writes novels in his spare time. He savors good food and prefers hot summer air to cold winters, but he can't see himself living anywhere with a less temperate climate. Wine over beer, but he'll never turn down a good homebrew.

Thor is fascinated by it all: he's a detective with the NYPD, and in his spare time, he conducts rape and self-defense classes at the Y. He reads only as much as he needs to for work, choosing instead to indulge in movies and music, and he honestly loves the winter after being raised in California and Hawaii. Beer over wine, but then he's known among his family for downing entire bottles of red at holiday time.

They're laughing as much as they talk, so at first Thor thinks nothing of it when Loki excuses himself to go to the bathroom. Then he comes back with his eyes just puffy enough to mean something and he frowns as he asks, "Are you all right?"

A smile, and, "I am quite fine. Tell me more about this Christmas dinner with your friends."

The event, though most likely benign gets filed away in Thor's mind.

 

-

 

"Oh, look, another coffee," Dash says to the entire squad when Thor walks in Monday morning.

Charles Hogun says nothing though he makes a soft face toward his friend before kicking his partner under their shared desks; Sarge just smirks, his gut pressing against the lip of his desk when he chuckles as he says, "What's his name then?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You hate Starbucks and you only ever get coffee from there if you're running late or you see a cute guy," Sif tells him, one eyebrow raised.

"What? I can't develop a taste for shit coffee?"

She just shakes her head as she grins. "Whatever," she says, amused, and slaps a file on his desk, "Try not to beat this one in a bloody pulp, would you? I think Cap's teetering on the verge of letting IAB get on your ass and petitioning the commissioner to give you a medal."

"Please, like IAB could argue with the results."

"I think it's more your methods that gets IAB's panties in a rather impressive twist," Dash tosses out; he doesn't even take his eyes off his computer screen, some back report or another being carefully written up.

Thor doesn't reply: honestly, he knows that he's been a little rough with suspects over the last few months, but after that case with the child sex trade, he's had less patience than normal; he's been seeing the therapist as ordered and he's gaining back his control, it's just difficult when you've got a ten year old struggling to tell you how her brother/father/stepfather/mom's boyfriend/teacher/etc are abusing her and people are looking the other way. This job, well, it's his choice to stay, yet there are always times he wonders if he needs to swap departments, get away from the vics for a while and just... do something where you don't have to hurt little kids in order to save them.

Thankfully, this guy cracks in thirty seconds, even as his lawyer is telling him to shut the fuck up, and when they exit back into the squad room, there's the DA hanging out in Thor's chair. He grins at the detective, swiveling back and forth while slouching in a rather undignified manner.

"Aren't you supposed to instill fear in the hearts and minds of all us mere mortals?" Thor asks him, tossing down his notepad on his paper-strewn desk.

Hallins gives him a half-smirk. "I've already got you all well trained, so why would I need to put the fear of God in you? Nah, I'm saving all those lovely Devil's Advocate speeches for the new kids."

Thor rolls his eyes, his godfather a good man but a pain in the ass too, and he asks, "What are you doing here, Don?"

Sif and the others give him looks that echo the sentiment and he sits up straighter, fixing his suit jacket as he does; he doesn't often let himself lapse, but he's known Thor since birth and the others for so long now he almost considers them family in absence of his own. But he knows when to get on with business and he tells them, "Beth Fitzpatrick asked for a transfer," and they nod because who hadn't seen that coming?

"Who's our new ADA?"

"You'll meet him this afternoon—he's getting settled in his office right now—but he'll be by to go over the Murphy and Dahar cases." He stands up, relinquishing Thor's chair. "His name is Loki."

Thor sighs.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

 

-

 

"Oh my god, you're screwing our new ADA!" Dash chuckles as Thor flops into his chair, lets his head collapse on his hands and let out a sigh.

"We're not screwing!"

Don pats him on the back. "Before I even hired him, that's a new record."

"Fuck you."

His friends laugh heartily and as they do, Don leans down and tells him, voice soft but level, "Just... be careful with this one," and then the man is gone and Thor's wondering just how much aspirin he has in his desk.

 

-

 

"You didn't say you were working for the DA's office," Thor says.

That afternoon, after Loki arrives and goes over the two most critical cases he needs to learn prior to trial, he's standing beside the coffee pot as he sips burnt, jet-fuel level brew and looks over the squad currently getting themselves ready for evening change over.

"I didn't think it was relevant. You said you were working in Special Victims and I had originally expected to be placed in Homicide. Miss Fitzpatrick's transfer necessitated some changes to the original plan." Loki adds a bit more sugar to his mug. "It was a last minute issue."

"And you didn't think the paths would ever cross if you'd been with Homicide? We work cases with them sometimes."

"Yes, well... bridges, crossing," Loki tells him, and he wraps his other hand around the mug; he looks like he's trembling, but Thor's not sure if it's from the sudden hit of caffeine or the nerves of enduring twenty questions.

Thor nods and tells himself to stop with the interrogation: he's known Loki just under two weeks, the man wasn't required to tell him jackshit. "I'm sorry. I just... Don caught me off-guard when he said you would be our new ADA." Thor quirks one half of his lips up, turns to lean against the counter, and asks, "You, uh, want to keep our dinner date Friday?"

"As long as you are comfortable, yes. I would very much like to."

So they keep the date.

And the next one.

And the one after that.

And the ones in the months that follow.

And Sif—sorry, Safia, a name Thor had butchered when they'd met and has consequently shortened in front of all but her parents, unless she's on a "My name is not Sif!" tangent—smirks every time the two of them are alone in one of the interview rooms, paperwork covering the table and some of the chairs.

Thor rolls his eyes at her and Loki shrugs it off, ignoring the jokes and enjoying Thor's company.

(He hasn't felt as safe as he does with Thor, hasn't had as much comfort and fun as he does with Thor. And he knows it can't last, nothing good in his life ever does, but he's savoring every moment he does get because... damnit, he deserves someone who loves him.

Loki pushes the thoughts away.)

"Let's go over cross-examination again."

Thor shakes his head a little: he's been going to court to testify for cases for so long, he's pretty sure he could be a kick ass lawyer with all his experience, but Loki is a man who likes to be thorough. He doesn't like when his cases get thrown out on technicalities or because there's something he didn't know about that the opposing attorney does that he should have known in the first place.

"Trial is tomorrow afternoon and we've been working on this Tuesday morning, let's take a break, get lunch. I'll even let you splurge on mustard for the hot dogs."

"You can splurge. I'm going to Starbucks."

"Oh, you know you love those dirty water dogs," Thor teases: he had taken Loki to Central Park one afternoon, and on their way back to the subway, encountered a Sabrett cart. He'd managed to get Loki to try a bite of his hot dog—after pulling tapping on his cell phone's camera app for what Thor was sure would be a pretty damn funny reaction—and nearly laughed himself hoarse when Loki gagged and spit it out. There might have been some cursing of his family, but Thor doesn't really remember.

Loki flips him off.

Thor might be a little proud of his boyfriend. He tells Loki, "Fine. How 'bout we get pizza? I'll still let you splurge if you want pepperoni."

"Must you insist on tormenting me with the inedible offerings you call food?"

"You'd like it if you tried it!"

"I really don't think so."

Thor just laughs and gives him a good, firm smack on the shoulder.

It's like a switch gets flipped and Loki flinches away, tries to cover it quickly with a look of surprise, then tells Thor, "I'm just going to visit the restroom before we go. Could you make sure no one touches anything in here while we're gone?"

"Uh, okay..." Thor mutters to the now empty room.

(They've known each other a year now, or just about there, and Thor has a mental file of all the times Loki's managed to duck into the bathroom with the oddest look on his face: in the beginning, he never saw it, but as time went on... well, you can't spend time with someone you love and never figure out their expressions. Now he can see the seconds-twist of Loki's mouth, the way his eyes shutter.

It makes him worry and it makes him twitchy.

It also makes him wonder about the past Loki never talks of, the family he very easily skates around whenever it's brought up, but it's Loki's story to tell, whatever the story may be, and he can't push. Not when Loki pushes some of his detective buttons, Loki's reaction to certain touches, words, events making Thor feel like he should be chasing some asshole down a street and slapping him with charges.

And that's reason enough for him to keep his training in mind: Loki doesn't feel secure enough with him yet to tell Thor about his past, and that's okay as long as he's safe.)

He tapes a note on the door to the room that tells everyone else to leave the papers lest they face Loki's wrath—and that is definitely enough warning for several members of the squad—and then waits at his desk for Loki to return, shifting through paperwork. "I thought the May case was open and shut? We have to go question another guy?"

"Defense," Sif shrugs. "I'll take care of it. I know the guy they're insisting we question. Be in and out in like twenty minutes."

"And they say my methods go overboard."

"Hey, my suspects just fall over themselves to get distance between us. You really want to discuss yours?"

He flicks a capped pen at her.

"Should I be concerned about this pigtail pulling behavior?" Loki interjects.

"Please, the last time he had a personal interest in a vagina was the day he was born," Sif replies, smirking, and then expertly dodges the notepad winged at her head. "Go get lunch. Bring me back a slice of meatlovers and a diet coke."

"I have so many comments to make about that selection."

Loki just laughs as the notebook nails Thor squarely in the back of the head.

 

-

 

Two years after their first meeting, they're in bed, the sweat on their skin cooling in the night air, and Thor's practically purring as he strokes over Loki's bare shoulder. There's a warm feeling of contentment in the air, so much so that Loki actually closes his eyes as he enjoys the post-orgasm haze and starts to drift off.

It is the very first time he's ever done so, and it makes something in Thor's chest tighten: Loki trusts him, Loki's falling asleep right here beside him without worry and that's monumental in light of what Thor has determined from the feel of the scars Loki never lets him see, from his reactions, from his quiet nature. He's a man who spent too long trying to hide lest he be harmed by someone; the thought makes that tightened part strengthen and he leans in to kiss Loki's temple, then his cheek, which earns him the softest, most pleasant smile.

Still, Thor continues to be unaware of exactly what it is that Loki's got hidden away in his mind and his heart, but there's so many signals that he worries over it. And he'd be lying if he said he's never even googled Loki's name, but Loki Selvik only pops up in recent history with his court cases and honors from his university, from law school. He's tempted to call in favors and dig a little further, but guilt always creeps in when he thinks about that and he buries away the urge.

It's his story to tell, Thor reminds himself, I can't take that away from him.

He threads a hand through Loki's hair then, petting the other man gently for a few minutes before he kisses Loki's cheek again and gets up: he's still got a dinner to make for them and a question to ask and he needs a little while to steel his courage for both. Moving around to the other side of the bed, Thor sees that the blanket is up over Loki's shoulders already, but as he tries to tuck it closer anyway.

A finger brushes over a ridge of scar tissue when the blanket shifts and then he can see a long white line, paler than Loki's natural tone, curving from shoulder to spine. It's neat, that is it's not ragged anywhere, just perfect line, as if someone had cut into his flesh with a knife and Thor swallows around a flash of anger: Loki isn't just keeping in his abuse, he's keeping in cruel acts of torture.

"Please," Loki whispers softly then, his eyes still closed; his body is no longer lax on the sheets and the hand that had been pillowing his head reaches up in a gentle plea for the blanket to be pulled back over him.

Thor has to force his fingers to uncurl as he relinquishes the comforter. There's bile in his throat and he has to swallow it down before he brushes a hand over Loki's covered arm, saying, "I was going to make us pasta, but I can order out if you want something else."

Loki still doesn't look at him. "Pasta is fine."

"Okay," Thor says, "Okay," and he leaves his bedroom for the kitchen.

(They eat dinner in bed, Loki fully clothed beside Thor though he reclines on the pillows comfortably; they don't talk, only eat, though Thor sneaks little touches in between bites, feeling a little more than protective. Those touches are why, once the bowls are stacked and set on the nightstand, Loki, eyes locked on the open door, says, "You can ask."

"I know," Thor replies, "but it's not my place to. If you want to tell me, on your own terms, then I'll listen, but I'm not going to demand to know or ask a question that's going to make you uncomfortable. Especially in our home."

Loki takes the bait to change the subject. "Our home?"

"You barely spend time at your place any more and when you do go there, it's to pick up whatever books you need for a case or to get clothes or whatever it is that's there. My mother has already bought enough furniture to turn the guest bedroom into your office and the fridge has more than beer and leftovers in it." Thor sighs, shrugging just a fraction as he brings a beer bottle to his lips, "It's not just my place. Hasn't been for a while," and he drinks the last sip.

For a few minutes, Loki is silent, nursing two fingers of whiskey—the bottle is sitting on the floor beside the bed, already half empty—and he thinks: Thor's apartment has quietly become his over the last few months, his heart opening more and more as he truly begins to trust the man at his side. Could he see himself living here with no place to run to, though? Could he live here with the knowledge that if and when he needs to get the hell out and be by himself, there is no where to go that Thor won't be?

He swallows around the lump in his throat.

It's been fifteen fucking years since the demon had been locked away and still, Loki can feel the horror of his childhood bearing down on him again. Always needing a place to run to... Loki hates the helpless feeling that fills his being at that and he closes his eyes.

When he opens them, he asks, "What kind of furniture has your mother chosen?"

Thor's smile is wide.)

He pushes the scar from his mind.

 

-

 

Three years, then four.

Thor thinks it's kind of funny that his mother, of all people, is the one to constantly ask the question: "Are you ever going to make an honest man out of him?"

"You know, most mothers would ask the other guy that," he always remarks.

"Since when have I ever been like most mothers?" Frigga always replies.

But it's not as if it's something Thor hasn't thought about at length: by the time their fifth anniversary arrives—and yes, he keeps track, moreso than Loki does—he's made the decision that it's time. Loki had finally dispensed with the lease on his apartment six months before, signing it over to his subletters, had started talking in more infinite terms than before, and despite how he'd been a little uneasy at the time, Loki had brought up buying a house out in Silver Beach.

Thor can no longer envision a future where they aren't together. Every time he talks to his family, be it his parents or his siblings, he always talks in terms of two people and they do in turn. Loki is a part of clan now, invited to events and gatherings that only the family attend and included in gift giving.

Sif teases him mercilessly when he tells her that he's already done a pass of the jewelers in the area; Dash smirks at him and only Hogan asks what type of ring he's looking to get, that his cousin could probably give Thor a good deal on something nice.

He thanks Hogan politely, accepting the slap Sarge lands on his back with a smile, and goes online in his free moments. There's seriously, far more choices than a person needs, and after the third headache, he goes to his brother Bragi and his sister Signe and asks their opinions.

In the end, it's Frigga, as always, who saves him from the stress and frustration: she's a fashion designer, a lady of business and beauty. She's as ruthless in her field as she is passionate about her craft, and Thor loves her for it, loves her all the more when she sits him down in her studio and asks him to describe exactly what he's looking for.

What she comes up with is so utterly perfect, Thor wishes it were made and already in his hands.

"Mamma, this is..."

She smiles and squeezes his hand. "You have made us all wait quite a long time for this. And I would certainly like for Loki to have something so lovely for himself."

Thor smiles at that. "Again, other mothers would say that for their own children."

"Yes, well, Loki has no mother of his own, something he has had need of since he was a boy. I take great pleasure in treating him as my son."

"Little weird hearing you refer to my future husband as my brother," he laughs.

"You'll get used to it," she tells him and leans back in her chair, reaches for one of the bottles of water chronically abandoned on various surfaces in the room, "Now, shall I have Peter go ahead and cast this?"

"Absolutely. I'll pay whatever it costs."

He will. He'll pay anything for a gold band engraved with the runes Thor had seen on books and pottery around their house since he was small: healing, peace, love... all things he wants Loki to have, wants Loki to know Thor will do anything to give him. There's nine emerald chips encircling the ring and sunken into the metal so the surface is smooth and level, more masculine, though Loki's always seemed to lean toward things that are glittery and look expensive.

(Thor vastly enjoys that Loki likes the finer things, and for the first time in his life, Thor is grateful for the money his privileged life has granted him.

Seriously, there's nothing better than seeing Loki's face light up when Thor brings him things like soft silk shirts or Italian leather shoes; he's happy with places like Whole Foods and Starbucks, but he revels in things that Thor knows had been long out of his reach.)

"No," Frigga says, "Your father and I decided that if you ever stopped being so stubborn, that this would be our gift to you."

"I don't need that."

"It's not charity, my son, it's a gift. Take it."

"Pappa really offered to pay?"

And from the doorway he hears a chuckle, Odin having approached at some point; he's stood there for who knows how long watching his son and wife, and Thor feels uneasy, not uncomfortable but unsure, because his father, while always having told Thor and his siblings that he loved them regardless, had seemed so cool towards Loki for so long.

"You distrust your mother?"

"Never. But you took forever to be more than just tolerant of Loki and now you're offering to buy his engagement ring."

Odin smiles softly at him. "You are my youngest child, Thor, and I never believed that you would find someone worthy of you. Tyr, Bragi, Signe, I love them greatly, but they would always have found someone to be at their side. You... You have a heart I didn't expect, so open and full, and a strength borne in the need to protect others. So many could have taken advantage of that. Some already have."

"And you thought Loki would be the same."

"I thought he would throw himself beside you and enjoy the attentions you gave him, would probably ask so much of your time and your inheritance."

"What changed your mind?"

Odin moves into the room properly then, settles down on a chair near his wife and sighs, admitting, "I learned his first name, the one he was born with, and I thought perhaps it wasn't that Loki wasn't worthy of you but that you might not be worthy of him."

Thor pulls a face, having never been one for his father's riddles. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that he has been through a hell on earth, endured abuses I cannot even fathom as a father myself. He needs someone with a good heart and warm one, who can be patient, and can offer him comfort when he needs it. You are a good man, a gentleman, but still, I have seen the anger in you at times and he needs so much to never see you that way."

"He's seen me angry."

"Yes, I'm sure he has. But I'm also sure it has never been at him—and marriages, they are complex and have their ups and downs and there are times when you will snap and scream at each other."

"Then I'll get us a therapist for those times," he spits back.

"It's not a condemnation." Frigga strokes his cheek with her fingers. "It's the reality. Life will be tougher, but it will be worth it for both of you. He is your match, darling. I don't doubt that."

Thor nods at that.

After all, Loki is definitely his match, his soulmate.

"You'll have it cast, then?"

Frigga drags him in, hugging him tightly. "I want to know straight off what happens when you propose, understand?"

 

-

 

Life goes on while Thor waits for the ring to be cast: he works and Loki works, and they eat too many meals of pure junk food. How Loki stays so slim when he lives on things like pizza, steak, bread, and pasta, Thor doesn't know, but he'd allayed his fears of an eating disorder long ago.

But the holidays approach and amid their hunt for gifts, Loki starts receiving official looking mail from overseas. He hides the letters as fast as gets his hands on them, so Thor has no idea whatsoever as to what is in the envelopes though he can see the effect each has on Loki: the soft tremble of his hands, the shuttered look, and the slow disintegration of his sleeping routine. Eventually, even pizza doesn't tempt his appetite.

Thor quietly worries, something Sif quickly picks up on though, in her infinite grace, doesn't discuss it. Instead, she steals a case off his desk here and there, takes lead on speaking with both vics and perps, and she makes sure that when Thor and Loki are locked up in one of the interrogation rooms, they aren't bothered.

They usually buy each other movies for the holidays, stacks of DVDs and Blu-rays of crappy action movies, blockbuster scifis, and the random season of something like Big Bang Theory or How I Met Your Mother. And there's a neatly wrapped—hey, he's got sisters, Thor is well versed in all sorts of wrapping abilities—group of cases sitting by the door for Christmas Eve, the night when his entire family and their close friends gather to exchange gifts.

But for all she's done as of late for him, Thor calls his sister and asks, "What kind of gift says 'Thank fuck I have you because I'm an idiot'?"

"I'm pretty sure the engagement ring will do that extremely well."

"Haha. No, for Sif."

"What did you do to Safia now?"

"I didn't do anything to her," he grouses, "She's been helping me with work."

Signe doesn't have to say anything for Thor to know she's lifting an eyebrow at him in a parody of their mother's own disbelieving expression, and he sighs loudly.

"Loki's... he's not himself lately, and she's been taking on some of the heavy lifting so I can take care of him," Thor explains, rubbing at his forehead; he's home and it'll be a good hour before Loki is home as well, but still, he finds himself watching the front door intently, not wanting his boyfriend to walk in and hear that he's the center of the conversation.

"He's okay, though? He's not sick and you didn't tell us, right?"

"He's depressed."

"Does Mamma know?"

Thor leans forward onto the kitchen island, eyes still firmly locked on the door, and thinks for a moment if he should even discuss this. Then he thinks that even caregivers need to talk to someone and Signe's always been a good listener, keeping his most intimate of secrets when he was an uncertain, questioning teenager—she won't run right to their parents or their brothers to tell them everything she's heard this night. If anything, she'll make herself a buffer between Loki and Tyr, who can be something of an ass when he gets drunk at family functions.

"I haven't told anyone what's been going on with him. I think it has to do with whatever abuse he went through when he was younger, but he's not talking to me. Not about that."

This time she sighs. "Thor, you've been adamant since day one that he has to be the one to tell you, yet I think it's time someone told you exactly what you're dealing with."

"Signe..."

"Thor, his father is Johan Fárbautason."

There's a few moments of silence as he digests this news, hating that he's let her tell him anything about Loki's past and strangely grateful at the same time: Johan Fárbautason, he'd been a prominent spectre in the Odinson children's teenage nightmares, the news from the very public trial having been used by their parents to instill a lesson in them all about right, wrong, and how to treat others.

And for Thor, that case, that story, had been the impetus for him to seek a career in law enforcement; he'd shunned law school after his pre-law and criminology degrees once he'd realized he could do more, be more to a victim, than the one who stood in a courtroom and argue with others. He could put himself between an attacker and a child and defend the one who couldn't defend themselves, as Fárbautason's two boys had been unable to do.

He swallows around the rise of pain in a chest as those initial minutes pass and he realizes that Loki's father is Johan Fárbautason.

"Fuck," he gets out.

"Yeah," Signe's tone is soft, motherly and comforting, and she says, "Uncle Don knows. He and Pappa and I talked about it recently."

That gets Thor's ire up, every protective instinct in his body ramping up. "Why?"

"Easy, tiger—one of his father's psycho fans tried to attack him at the courthouse about three years ago. Loki didn't want to tell anyone about it, but Uncle Don witnessed it and insisted he get checked out so Loki asked for me," she pauses for a moment, whispers at someone, then continues, "He told me enough that I guessed it."

"And you went to Pappa over it?"

"No, I went to Pappa because I needed to have one of the Borson lawyers write up a restraining order. He asked why and I tried not to tell him anything, just get the lawyer on it, but he's as bad as you when he feels there's a wrong to right. And once he knew it had to do with Loki, he put Tyr on it and you know what happens when Tyr gets his teeth in a problem."

"Am I the last to know, then?"

"I think so. But then, I don't think he'd still be with you if you'd known before now. He's so scared of what your knowing could do to your relationship, so scared, and Thanksgiving dinner was the first time I heard him sound secure even with that fear," she tells him, "He didn't spend half of dinner keeping track of the exits, he didn't jump when Nick started that banshee scream of his... he's accepting that he's safe. I think you proposing might be enough to really get him to feel like he's not going anywhere."

"And he'll feel that he can talk to me about it."

He can hear her nod, his sister far too predictable at times. "He loves you, but trust... he's been working on that for five and a half years."

"Thanks."

"And as for Safia, get her two tickets to see a show. Something she and Tyr would enjoy."

"I am still extremely disturbed that they are apparently dating."

"At least she and Dash aren't friends with benefits anymore. I don't think I could have taken hearing from her about that arrangement any longer. Christmas Eve was awkward with the two of them having eyesex from across the table."

"Oh, and it'll be better with her and Tyr?"

Signe laughs, "Of course, brother—you're the one who'll be sitting next to them this year."

"I hate you so much."

She hangs up, still giggling, and he rolls his eyes as he puts the phone back into the cradle; it click into place and begins to charge as the jingle of keys heralds Loki's imminent entry to their apartment. Thor takes the few precious seconds before the lock gives and the knob turns to steel himself, to act as if he doesn't know that Loki Selvik was born Helblindi Fárbautason and that Loki'd seen his own brother and mother murdered.

It's barely enough time, only managing to not grab Loki and hug him tightly by sheer force of will, and he keeps to their normal routine as they crawl into bed together, and Thor can hold his future husband without having to justify it.

Once Loki seems relaxed, Thor whispers, "I love you," and begins to drift off himself.

He doesn't notice in the darkness of their bedroom, that Loki looks up at him with uncertainty, doesn't notice that as his grip loosens, Loki takes it up and snuggles in closer.

(Thor is not as good an actor as he wants to believe, not with Loki: Thor knows, Loki can tell, and when Thor gives that affirmation of his love, Loki's heart breaks—love simply can't overcome all that lies in his past.

He cries silently then, careful to never let out the sobs that threaten, and he curls around Thor, memorizing how even in sleep Thor pulls him close, wraps an arm over his shoulders as if to protect him.

God, but how he'll miss this.)

 

-

 

Loki's depression deepens and he pulls away from Thor.

With no where to hide away, he simply begins sleeping on the couch and showering long before Thor wakes in the morning; he eats breakfast on his own, too, though there's always a plate of something warming for him in the oven because Loki no longer waits for Thor to walk with him to the station or travel to the courthouse together. His lack of appetite gets worse and he begins skipping lunch, and when they work together, well, there's an awkwardness between them that even Dash comments on.

Still, Thor tries to do whatever he can to show Loki that everything is okay, that he's here for Loki to lean on and share the burden. He tries to sleep on the sofa himself, hoping Loki will at least be comfortable in their bed, but those nights, Loki takes to the recliner; he moves his bathing products to the second bathroom and sets his alarm for an hour earlier, hoping that by removing his claim to the master bath, perhaps Loki would accept a nice, quiet breakfast together, but Loki just wakes even earlier.

The only contact that remains is their evening television time, Loki laying his head on Thor's shoulder as they decide between a movie or some broadcast show, and Thor savors every minute of it. Slowly, he starts choosing movies two hours or more, trying to draw it out long enough that he can get some good cuddle time in.

It is what they are doing the night after the ring is delivered to Thor and it burns a brand into his skin right through his jeans' pocket; Loki is curled close while some superhero movie plays, the light from the screen all that illuminates their living area, and Thor is so pitifully grateful for the closeness after the failure of the day. He runs his thumb along a stretch of Loki's arm, feeling anxious as he makes the decision right then and there that he's not going to wait until tomorrow to propose, not going to drag Loki out to the stupid tree in Rockefeller to do it, romantic as it might have been.

Loki doesn't need romantic right now. What he needs is the comforting and the familiar, the feeling of safety, acceptance.

With a shaking hand and clammy fingers, Thor reaches into his pocket and clasps the ring in his palm, waiting for a spot to stop the movie and flick on a light; he reluctantly pulls away from Loki, though only enough that he can slide off the couch to kneel before Loki.

He grips Loki's hand with his own, kissing the knuckles, before speaking.

"I love you so much," he says, voice rough and low and his throat tight with a little bit of fear, "You are everything, Loki, and I don't want to go back to life without you," Thor holds out his hand, the ring bright in the flat of his palm, "Please marry me."

The hand in Thor's goes cold and sweaty, and Loki begins to shake, causing Thor to shove the ring back into his pocket. He strokes carefully and gently over the outside of Loki's legs, letting his shoulders drop and settling back on his heels so as to make himself seem less threatening.

It's a panic attack, no doubt, and Thor asks, "What do you need, sweetheart?" knowing that somewhere in the apartment, there has to be medication. Loki has too many panic attacks to not have something to help ease them.

"Pills," he murmurs after a few long minutes, "Briefcase."

Thor doesn't hesitate, moves to Loki's office and tears through his briefcase for the bottle of pills hidden in the bottom corner beneath a wadded up but clean handkerchief; he returns with the whole vial and grabs the half-drunk water off the side table, offering both to Loki who simply dry swallows a pill without looking at Thor.

The twitching and hyperventilating eases over the course of next half an hour, the shivering refusing to end and it takes everything in Thor to not cry when it hits him that it's because of him, because of the proposal, that Loki is terrified.

"Easy," he whispers, "Just breathe, okay? I swear, Loki, you're safe. I will never hurt you, I'll never let anyone else hurt you. Never. It's all right."

And Loki crumples forward, his head falling into his hands, before he lets out a sob and slides off the couch and into Thor's lap. His voice is too faint to be heard, but Thor strains his ears toward the sound, focusing on it until he can make the words out.

"I'll go," Loki is saying, "I'll go."

"Go where?" Thor asks, blood freezing in his veins as he wraps Loki up in his limbs. He worries the hair at the nape of Loki's neck, then cradles Loki's head in that large hand; with the other hand, Thor rubs at Loki's back, trying warm the chilled skin. "You're home, sweetheart."

"Can't stay."

"Why? Who says you can't? Not me."

Loki shifts, fingers clenching in the loose fit of Thor's tee shirt. "Won't want me. Not after what he did," he gasps out, "Disgusting. Sullied."

"Never." Thor lifts Loki's chin, makes eye contact and lets Loki see how the tears are gathering in Thor's own eyes. "You are not his sins. You are beautiful, and I love you, and this is your home, Loki. You don't have to go anywhere."

"You can't want me."

"Why?" Thor repeats.

Loki's expression changes, his face screwed up in the effort to shut off the emotions warring within him, and he tells Thor, "He raped me. He carved his fucking name into my skin," and, "I can't even get through sex without taking meds before. You can't want me."

"I'm so sorry." Thor wipes a tear from Loki's cheeks, his own tears tracking down his face. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that, that you didn't have anyone to protect you," he says, kissing Loki's hairline, "You deserved so much better."

"I got what I deserved."

"Don't say that. Don't let him into your head, Loki, not right now. I know you feel vulnerable so you're just falling back onto what you know, but when you say that kind of thing, it lets him win. Don't let him."

Loki nods, though it's half-hearted; he's calmer now, still crying, but not shaking so badly nor actively eying their front door, and Thor's grip on him loosens a bit. He maintains the hold though, stroking a hand through Loki's hair as he leans back against their coffee table.

His heart slowly begins to piece back together, swelling as Loki lays his head onto Thor's shoulder with a swipe of his hand over his eyes.

"Love isn't enough," he whispers.

"No, fear isn't enough, Loki. It's not enough to keep me away, okay?" Thor replies. "Promise me you won't go anywhere tonight."

"I..." Loki starts, unsure, but Thor's got that look on his face that means he's not going to take no for an answer. "I'll be here in the morning."

"Good," relief floods Thor, "Good."

For the first night in weeks, they lay together in their bed, Loki too exhausted to stay awake, Thor too filled with adrenaline to do the same. He watches, instead, how Loki struggles in his dreams, how it takes so many softly spoken platitudes and messages of safety before his boyfriend can settle down again and rest.

For the first time in Thor's life, after years and years of seeing child molesters and rapists sent to prison, he feels complete and utter hatred, a burning desire to hurt the man who'd hurt Loki and he knows that this is how the relatives of the victims feel. He wants to wrap his hands around Fárbautason's throat and squeeze the life out of him, wants to defenestrate any of the man's followers who'd dare touch Loki.

Loki moves closer, still asleep, and Thor casts off the anger, deciding that, for the moment, he cannot let it touch Loki in any way: he needs to feel love, to see that they have more than enough to see them through, and Thor kisses his forehead, his cheeks.

Tomorrow, he prays, will be better.

 

-

 

(The story is this:

Johan Fárbautason had married Astrid straight out of university where they'd met and the first few years were idyllic. They built careers for themselves, Johan in a branch of the Borson Organization's financial sector and Astrid working her way from personal assistant to one of the first women to manage three of the largest hotels owned by the company.

By the time Býleistr came, their first child, Johan had crushed under the pressures of his job, trying hard to make it appear that they were richer than they were. Most of their money was sunk into expensive clothing, a too-big house, and furniture that he picked from magazines and paid for with credit. Astrid, bed-bound for the last four months of her pregnancy and the three months following the baby's birth, could do little to slow him down.

Their money, obviously, dwindled, and soon, he became lost in drink, then, influenced by the other junior executives, he began to indulge in worse than scotch and rum.

Astrid's paycheck kept food on the table while Johan's went to bills, booze, and pills, but when she became pregnant with Helblindi, it all went to shit and they rapidly descended into a pit from which they would never recover.

Johan, unable to function in his addiction, lost his job followed quickly by the very pregnant, very sick Astrid. They lost the contents of their house then the house itself; Býleistr's grades suffered as the little family moved from house to apartment and finally to a hostel, and by the time Helblindi was a week old, Astrid had little choice but to return to the workforce.

She never knew what happened in their home, not of the abuses her boys suffered with nor the tears they'd shed. She didn't know how Býleistr tried so desperately to protect his baby brother as the two grew up, that his attempts to protect led to the broken arms and wrists that otherwise were blamed on childhood folly. She never knew that her boys felt the bite of their father's hand as she did, believing that they were safe as long as she took the brunt of Johan's anger.

She never knew.

Regardless of what the media later claimed, she didn't know of the sexual abuse, the beatings, the starvation, the very cruelty of the man she'd married and loved. Not even on the day she came home to their newly rented apartment and came face to face with Johan's knife, did Astrid know about her boys' pain.

Helblindi—a name his father had given him and he had changed with the blessing of the court in a closed session, choosing instead the name his mother had wanted—had been fourteen and locked in a closet by his big brother: he'd witnessed his mother's death, bleeding out there on the carpet, one slice to her spine paralyzing her there on the floor, and when Býleistr had run for the door to let the police in, Helblindi had watched as he too was slain, right there in their living room. The police had been pounding away on the door then, the building owner trying to get the appropriate key into the lock, as Býleistr took his last gurgled breath.)

Loki wakes in the early dawn, their bedroom still awash in darkness.

"Morning," Thor whispers, cautiously running one hand down Loki's arm to twine their hands together.

"You didn't leave," Loki mutters back.

Thor can only nod at that. "I told you last night, fear's not enough to chase me away. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't know what he did."

"I don't need to know the details—I know the story, Loki, and I don't mean the one the media told, I mean the one I hear every day. I knew it the first time I tried to kiss you and you flinched, the first time I recognized one of your panic attacks, the first time you stared at my hands when I got upset about a case. I knew it the first time I tried to make love to you and you went to take a piss and came back fifteen minutes later with that post-med look in your eyes. I know the story," he tells Loki. Both hands come up to cup Loki's face and stroke his thumbs over the man's cheekbones, and Thor spontaneously finds himself asking, "Did I ever tell you why I wanted to work in SVU?"

"You like helping the victims."

"There's a bigger reason." He eases a tiny bit closer to Loki, and waits for the curious look he knows is coming. It isn't long and Thor tells him, "You were my reason. Pappa, he was adamant that we follow it. He wanted us to understand how lucky we were to have a good family, to be loved, and that we needed to always have compassion for the ones who didn't." He swallows thickly. "Every time I read an article or listened to the news report about the case, all I could think was that I wanted to be there to protect kids like you, to make sure they had someone that would always listen to them and make sure they were safe. You are why I do what I do."

"Thor."

"There is literally nothing about you that I will ever find disgusting outside of your insistence that ketchup is an appropriate condiment for homemade pasta. What he did to you was horrible and sickening and was nothing you deserved, but it doesn't mean you're unworthy of love."

Loki can't speak at that, his heart thudding in his chest, and he leans his face into one of those comforting hands. He nuzzles at it, one of his own hands covering Thor's and he draws in a gasped breath as Thor tugs him close and runs a hand over the scars of his lower back; he doesn't hesitate or ease his touch, keeps up a sure, firm caress, and Loki kisses the palm of Thor's hand.

They spend the next little while stroking at less intimate spots, kissing hands and knuckles and cheeks, Loki relearning to take the affection that's offered. Hell, he's learning that the affection is not conditional on maintaining the secrets of his childhood, though Thor knows it's going to be a lesson that'll need vast amounts of reinforcement.

Then Loki pulls back and asks, "What you asked me last night..."

"It stands and I'll carry the ring with me for whenever you're ready to tell me yes." Thor brushes away the hair from Loki's eyes and kisses him on the lips this time, chaste and sweet, and when he draws back, Loki looks calmer though not completely.

"You always say when I'm ready. You always wait for me."

"I do."

Loki sits up slowly, bones popping into place, and for a moment, he takes in the sight of Thor beside him, whatever thoughts zipping through his head left off Loki's face and Thor does exactly what Loki had remarked about: he waits. He waits with his hands on the mattress and the pillow under his head until Loki pushes at him to sit up as well, Thor's back pressed against their headboard.

"Ask," Loki tells him once they're both situated on the bed.

"Ask what?"

"Ask," he repeats. "You ask victims all the time to tell you their story, why not ask me too?"

Thor wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, uncertain that this is the right thing to do, but Loki is sitting there with expectation, having made the request, and Thor cannot bring himself to let it lie any longer. "Can you tell me what happened, Loki?" he asks, the words identical to those he asks kids and adults at their station house.

It is as if the dam breaks and Loki tells him everything from the first time his father touched him, aged five, to the last time, aged fourteen, on the night he murdered Loki's mother and brother. He tells Thor about the night Johan had brought out the knife and the ones thereafter, when his back became a canvas for the monster he called his father and how he'd seen to it that every cut scarred over; he tells Thor about his brother, how he'd tried to take Loki's place, but their father hadn't seen Býleistr as 'pretty'.

It takes hours, it takes Loki's medication, and it takes more than one instance of Thor telling him he didn't have to say any more, they can talk another day. It even takes the murmur about calling his therapist for Loki to get it out, and in the end, as he whispers out the last part of that terrible day when he was still so young, he can identify the feeling in his gut.

Relief.

"Loki?" Thor says when he goes silent, one hand coming up to hesitantly touch his face.

He smiles. "I have only ever told Rebecca and Martin the whole of it," he tells Thor, naming his Norwegian and American psychologists, "And now, you."

"Thank you."

Loki keeps smiling, leaning down as the urge to sleep slams into him with the adrenaline crash, and he feels safe in the wrap of Thor's arms. "So, you still want to marry me?" he asks through that smile, wondering why he feels so insecure and secure at the same time.

"Give me five minutes to call my mother and we'll have a full scale five hundred person wedding by noon."

There's a sleepy laugh then, and as Loki drifts off, he murmurs, "Tell her a hundred at most," before he nuzzles into the crease of Thor's neck and he's asleep.

Thor pulls the blanket over them and settles in himself, glad to have the weight of Loki in his arms.

 

-

 

**Author's Note:**

> "In my head by the way, Frigga haggles with them over the guest list at Christmas dinner and it's only when Thor threatens to elope that she decides a hundred guests is an acceptable number.
> 
> Loki takes time off from work to deal with the letters his father's followers have been sending him and to focus on getting better, which turns into Don Hallins giving him paid leave and a note with the direction that Loki and Thor should take an actual vacation and not just a trip to the shore. They go to the airport with packed bags that night and randomly picking a flight and if they end up in Tahiti, well, it is a magical place."
> 
> Also, I'm posting this here cause I really don't want it to get lost or forgotten, like so many great fills have been, on norsekink.


End file.
